


I Would Even Wait All Night

by Safraninflare



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Emotional Hurt, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Injury Recovery, Sharing a Bed
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-29
Updated: 2019-08-29
Packaged: 2020-09-28 21:55:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,638
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20433077
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Safraninflare/pseuds/Safraninflare
Summary: Even the Goddess' power has its limits, and Byleth knows them all too well. She can rewind time, but she can never erase the memories of the realities she's seen.





	I Would Even Wait All Night

Sothis’ power was not almighty. That Byleth learned when she failed to save her father from Monic—No. Kronya’s clutches. Sometimes it could prevent tragedy entirely, like the first time she use the divine pulse to protect Edelgard. (Though, she’s thought time and time again that maybe she should have just let her die right then and there, and saved them all the trouble.) 

Most of the time, though, she could only soften the blow. A wound, rather than a death sentence. Something that a pointed combo of Manuela and Marianne could fix in less than a fortnight. But, she’d still have to watch as one of her students, her  _ friends _ got cut down before her eyes. Even if that timeline was scrubbed from existence, she’d still have to live through it. 

She’s heard countless screams in her head, watched as light faded from eyes over, and over, and over. Of course, her comrades would never know. Jeralt—  _ father _ , she reminds herself, he was the only one that had even an inkling of what she could do. No one else knows why she passes out after a particularly hard battle, forehead sweltering with fever. She usually knew not to push herself too hard, not to creep too close to that invisible precipice, that point of no return.

But, Claude changes things. He always has. From the moment she first laid eyes on the emerald-eyed schemer, she knew that nothing would be the same again. 

That’s why she pushed herself over, and over, and over that edge until her mint-colored hair was slick with sweat, until she found a future that didn’t end with an axe cleaved halfway through Claude’s chest. He still ended up with a nasty wound, a gash that took stitches and holy magic and a silent prayer to the empty space where Sothis used to be just to keep him whole.

It’s nighttime now, and despite Marianne and Hilda’s desperate attempts to get Byleth to get some rest, she remains at his bedside. She’s exhausted and probably half-dead herself, but she can’t bring herself to move. Not from here, not from Claude. 

He stirs in his sleep, a twitch of his nose that could be a twinge of pain or just the ghost of a sneeze. She doesn’t know enough about healing to really guess which one it is. While holy magic flows through her veins, courtesy of Rhea’s teachings, she can barely do more than clumsily close a few shallow wounds.  _ Useless _ .

Still, she hovers her hand over the bandages entwined around his shoulder, her hands stiller than death. Others might wobble or shake, but not her. No, she’s the Ashen Demon, the one cursed not to feel. Except, she  _ did _ feel. She felt so  _ Goddess-damned _ much that she couldn’t stand it, she just couldn’t show it. Claude, though. Claude always knows how she feels. A soft, buttery light flows from her palms and tickles her skin. It might not do much, but she hopes that it’ll ease his pain.

His eyebrows twist on his face, his  _ lovely _ face—and it almost breaks her heart, her heart that’s already so fractured. She moves her hand from over his wound and winds her fingers in his hair. He’s okay. He’s okay. He’s— 

Claude’s eyes flutter open, brilliant green against the low candlelight of the infirmary. There’s a soft smile on the corners of his mouth, and  _ son of a feral hog _ , does she want to kiss him. She’s wanted to kiss him for a while now, since that night in the Goddess Tower.

“Teach?” he croaks. It sounds like he’s gargled a mouthful of gravel, dry and tired and sharp with sleep. “What are you still doing here?”

The question hits her square in the chest, so hard that it nearly knocks the air right out of her lungs. He isn’t accusatory, but it still stings. Does he not want her there? No, that’s not Claude. He didn’t even push her away when he vomited into the monastery’s rose bushes after they had snuck a bottle of wine from Manuela’s supply.

Still, she turned on shaky heels, ready to bolt through the door. His hand shoots out from under the covers, blankets shifting to reveal his bare chest. He grasps her wrist, his eyes wide and slick with sleep. 

“Don’t go,” Claude says. 

It’s moments like these when Byleth is acutely aware of the fact that her heart does not beat. Others would be frozen, deafened by the pounding, but not her. Everything is silent, everything is still. 

“You should go back to bed,” she sighs. Her tone is flat, almost clinical, but inside she aches. Every breath brings her closer to that edge— In, out,  _ don’t cry. _

Don’t cry. It should be so easy. The first and last time she cried was when Jeralt died, but this… He’s here, Claude’s  _ here _ , and he’s  _ alive _ , and yet she still can’t scrub those memories of what was out of her head. The flash of steel, Hilda’s scream, Marianne running as fast as she can, sending physic after physic down the battlefield even though it was too late.

Byleth falls to her knees in front of Claude’s bed, chest heaving even though tears won’t fall. 

“I’m sorry,” Byleth says.

“C’mon, Teach. I’m fine.” Claude frowns. He rolls over, wincing as he tries to keep the weight off of his injured shoulder, and places his hand on her cheek. “It’s not your fault.” 

She leans her face into his touch. Her eyes flutter shut, and in that moment it just seems so easy.  _ I love you. _ Every fiber of her being is screaming it, and yet she can’t just say the words. If Sothis were still there, she’d call Byleth a coward and goad her until the words came out. Sothis always knew what to say, even if Byleth didn’t.

“Byleth?” Claude asks, his voice so small that for a minute she doesn’t even realize what he’s said. Her eyes fly open, the color of the waters of Derdriu, or so Claude said the day she woke after being thrown into Tom—No. Solon’s darkness.

She pulls away from his touch and gets to her feet. “I should go.”

The bed creaks behind her, groaning like an old wyvern rudely awoken from its slumber. Byleth turns so fast that she nearly falls, her body still heavy with fatigue. She’ll get an earful from Marianne in the morning, but right now all Byleth can care about is Claude.

He’s half off the cot, his feet on the floor. Pain furrows his brow, a sheen of sweat coats his skin. She reaches forward, but he grabs her hand again. 

“Don’t go.” Claude threads his fingers through hers, then brings them to his lips. “I don’t want you to.” 

He’s so warm, and so close, and when he kisses her knuckles she’s sure she’ll die right there. Byleth’s eyes sting, tears finally answering her call. She wants to say it, wants to  _ shout _ it with every fiber of her being.  _ I love you. _

“I—” the words stick in her throat and suck all the moisture from her mouth. “I need to sleep.”

He slides over in the cot, his emerald eyes twinkling in the death throes of the candlelight, and places his hand on the mattress. “There’s plenty of room, Teach.”

The wink Claude gives her sucks her breath from her chest.  _ I love you. I’d do anything for you. _

Sothis would tell her to stop being such a chicken, and she’d be right. Despite their predicament, it seemed like Sothis really knew how to live. Maybe it was about time that Byleth took a page out of the Goddess’ book, to take that leap.

Byleth takes one step forward, then another, then her knee hits the mattress. In battle, she never hesitates, but here? Here her head is light, her body heavy, even as Claude rests his injured arm on her, even as he nuzzles his face into her hair. 

“I love you,” the words tumble from Byleth’s lips on an exhale, and the world crashes around her like a wave on the rocks. 

“Aw, Teach. You were that worried about me?” Claude chuckles. 

Byleth sucks in a breath, her chest tight. Of course he would tease. So, she rolls to face him as he pulls the covers over both of their bodies, green eyes to green eyes. Despite her words, he hasn’t pulled away, hasn’t told her to leave. Instead he holds her gaze with a look she knows well.  _ Scheming face _ . 

She opens her mouth to respond to him, but before she can say a word his lips are on hers. Claude tastes like sleep and Almyran pine tea, so warm that she’s sure she’ll burn to ash if she touches him for too long. 

It feels like an eternity has passed before he finally breaks away, like another five years slipped through her fingers in the blink of an eye. His breath hitches in his throat, his brow furrowed. 

“I love you too,” Claude says before peppering feather-light kisses on her nose, her cheek, her jaw. “Byleth…”

Her name sounds like honey on his lips, and if they didn’t have a war to win she’s sure that she’d run off with him and never look back. There’s so much she wants to say, but all she can manage is a hoarse,  _ “Don’t die.” _

Claude gently pulls her to his chest, careful to avoid straining his wound, and kisses the top of her head once more. “I promise, Byleth, I’m not going anywhere.” 

Byleth isn’t sure who falls asleep first, though it doesn’t matter anyway. What matters is that they wake to Hilda squealing, ready to tell all the other Golden Deer the gossip about their favorite professor. 

  
  



End file.
